The Rainy Season
by purduepup
Summary: ALT-CANON. After Kagome makes the right wish, she returns to her home with no memory of the past. Some years later in the future, Inuyasha is a businessman, disguised as a human, and doesn't know what became of Kagome—that is, until he meets his new neighbor…


**Disclaimer: **I don't own Inuyasha or the title of this chapter; that belongs to Yiruma.

**A/N:** New story? Again? HOW DARE I. *slaps self* But really, I'd been planning to post this during this year's Japanese rainy season no matter what, so you can't blame me. Plus, I've began updating again, so… XP This should be finished on July 20th, the ending day of this year's _tsuyu_, and chapters will vary in length. It's filed under angst because, well, because it's included, though there will be humor, drama, and other stuff as well. And in case you don't know, the chapter title is French; it translates to "A Man and a Woman" in English. Hope you enjoy! :3

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><p><em><strong>The Rainy Season<strong>_

_Un Homme et une Femme_

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><p>It was early June, the eighth to be exact, when he found himself moving once again after two more decades of living in the same city. That was his drill, all of theirs: Get homey, enjoy your time there while you can, and then one day, have it finally acknowledged that you're not aging one bit. Then they'd all pack their bags and find a new home in another metropolis, since smaller towns were the ones that usually noticed something was off when they weren't even physically maturing after five years. Eventually, somewhere in the late nineteenth century, they ran out of possible cities to go to and resorted to revisiting old cities sometimes, just in different or extended neighborhoods. That's where they were headed next: to old Tokyo, a place so big, people maybe wouldn't even notice that they hadn't aged in over thirty years. (<em>Maybe.<em>)

There was only so much concealment charms could do for a demon—and unfortunately for them, all they could do at the time was give them humane appearances and add a few wrinkle lines here and there, maybe even some gray hairs. The remaining kitsune were sure they could solve the little issue of making it seem as if they were actually growing old, but really, having access to birth certificates and death records amongst other things helped you fake identities and carry on without any government suspicion.

Within an empty apartment in Kobe, the raven-haired entrepreneur sighed after taping up another box, his button-down sleeves rolled up to his elbows to prevent undisturbed dust getting on his "nice shirt", as his best friend referred to it as. He leaned on the box as if a great weight was on his shoulders before taking a good look at what had been his home for twenty-two years until his sister-in-law's age was questioned by a local grocer. And since demons and their mates stuck together like packs, naturally when one of them was found out, all of them were forced to leave their current, comfortable lives for safety reasons. If they dared to stay, more questions would arise, which would lead to the existence of youkai being fact instead of myth. As far as humans were concerned, they were nothing but superstitions and bedtime stories, and as far as those humans' ancestors were concerned, they were wiped out long ago before the Meiji Restoration. Disrupting the balance of things by coming out with their true heritage would not only reek total chaos, but bring upon certain death to innocent demons.

Steel-gray eyes wandered along the familiar shapes and forms of the room before closing briefly, not wanting to linger too long in fear of further attachment to the place. He continued his work, stacking the last few boxes on top of each other before grabbing the stack and swiftly making his way out of the room, ignoring the _eep! _that came from an unsuspecting woman sauntering down the hall. The man was more concerned with getting his stuff all downstairs in time to catch the bullet train at the Shin-Kobe Station than worrying what his soon-to-be ex-neighbors thought of him, anyway.

Plus, he was naturally impolite—rarely anything could change that.

The moment his feet hit the lobby floor, he shoved half of his luggage into the arms of his oblivious best friend, who nearly stumbled over the sudden weight. He continued on outside to the awaiting taxi as if the gesture were nothing and heard an irritated huff echo from behind him. "Thanks for the warning, bud!" the indigo-eyed man yelled sarcastically, not paying any mind to the curious stares he received for shouting. "I appreciate it, really!"

"Keh, I'm holding open the door for you, dumbass," the long-haired man replied in a mutter, holding true to his words after throwing the few boxes he carried into the trunk. He saw his friend's cobalt eyes roll in disbelief, and his eyes sharpening, he snapped, "Shut it, Minoru; it's two o'clock, and the train leaves in thirty minutes. I'd rather break your back and beat traffic than wait for your pansy ass to help with carrying shit."

The man Minoru with short, black strands pulled back into a rebelling rat's tail exhaled, loading what he carried into the back as well. He resembled his monk ancestor well, just as his father, his father's father, and so on did—the same eyes, face, attitude, hair, even style as Miroku. Even the occasional woman in the family would resemble her slayer predecessor, but would always have a brother who represented the monk as well. He didn't expect it and was actually stunned when he found himself best friends with Miroku's descendents—especially after the monk's death—continuing the process until it really felt like Miroku never left. He wasn't replacing Miroku, his battle companion and first closest male friend, but it was hard to ignore people with his same aura and scent. Sure, Miroku's memories had went with him to the afterlife, but the face and mannerisms he was used to kept showing up and passing away until it finally reached the college senior before him, Tsujitani Minoru: his best friend and an intern at his company. The only obvious difference, he supposed, between Minoru and all his predecessors was his greater use of sarcasm—something that seemed incomprehensible yet recognizable to his ancestors, but something he managed to catch onto quickly under the entrepreneur's care.

Minoru's arms now empty, he eyed the building wearily, as if silently asking if more luggage awaited being carried to today's golden chariot. The raven-haired businessman chuckled in response, shaking his head and closing the taxi trunk. "Your lucky day, kid," he teased, ruffling the younger man's hair before entering the cab with him, giving the driver instructions.

Minoru grumbled, smoothing out his hair while his companion grinned. A moment of silence passed before he asked, "Sesshoumaru sold your furniture again, I take it?"

Sighing, the twenty-something-year-old man in appearance nodded. He'd told Minoru a few times what the routine was since he was a mere infant since their last move. This mentioned part of it involved his sister-in-law's moving, interior designing company; she'd give the group furniture for their homes, and when the time came to pack up and go, she'd let them choose different furniture for their latest residence. However, he was a bit lazy and preferred the ever-willing designer to do that job for him. Apparently, his new house, located in the more suburban area of Tokyo rather his brother's purely urban neighborhood, had a more "modern" feel to it this time, according to his sister-in-law. Considering she called his place in Kobe "ranch", he considered it was a bit of an improvement from last time.

Minoru shifted on the seat beside him from excitement as the taxi cab moved forward on the streets, narrowly avoiding the traffic soon to come. If anyone was taking moving hard—or at least viewing it as something new—it was Minoru, who'd grown up in Kobe his whole life. Even after his parents' deaths as a young child, Minoru stayed in Kobe instead of going to a nearby village's orphanage; the demonic man made sure to take care of his best friend's son by signing his adoption papers and taking the boy under his wing. He couldn't remember where the line formed—it seemed blurred, the transition from his friend's only child to somewhat of his own son, and then his closest friend—but he didn't regret the changes that occurred because of it. He'd asked Minoru a few times how he felt about moving from it all, from his memories and past, and the boy replied, always full of sunshine and freakin' unicorn vomit, "Honestly? Kobe was nice, and of course it's my hometown, but I can't wait to see how many buildings and hot foreign chicks Tokyo has."

The Tsujitani bloodline: always concerned with the fairer sex.

"Think you could be able to keep up with your classes at Kobe U?" Minoru's best friend asked, leaning back in his seat and closing his eyes. Most of his days were spent in his apartment, working his company from home to avoid suspicions, and the rest were spent attending business meetings at his branch in Kobe. Of course, he had a branch in the last few cities they'd been to—including Tokyo, his first established in the early twentieth century—and the moment he left, he'd entrust his closest demonic adviser with that specific branch, making occasional visits or even sending his brother or sister-in-law out to check how things were going. As long as their immortal aging process wasn't recognized by the few human workers, they were fine, though considering his and his brother's businesses were mostly an aid for demons to find work and move for logical reasons ("the branch in Kyoto needs me," they'd tell a neighbor in Osaka), they didn't have to worry too much about their identities.

"Kobe University," Minoru sighed, shaking his head nostalgically. "Man, that brings back memories." His companion rolled his eyes, though continued to listen as the younger man continued. "As much as I'd hate to admit it, online classes will only get me so far in photography."

How Miroku and Sango's descendents had such a wide range in careers, he'd never know.

"I can pull a few strings," the elder said, "and in a week, you could be attending Tokyo U's summer classes."

The younger seemed to choke on air at the suggestion. "Are you—are you serious?" Before Minoru even saw the "are you an idiot?" look given to him, he automatically added, "No, no, of course you're serious." Huffing, eyes still wide, he muttered, "Well, damn. You really could pull some strings and get me into the most prestigious college of Japan, couldn't you?"

"Only if you don't fuck it up," the demonic of the two chided, his eyes closing and his form still leaning back.

Minoru nodded quickly in response. It seemed his power and relations to other powerful people never seemed to stop amazing the boy, even if he knew he should've seen it coming. "Well, then," he said slowly, blinking at the incoming clouds overhead while his fingers began searching for his pocket camera, "thanks, Yash."

As they approached the train station only a minute away now, the boy's guardian smirked in return. "Don't mention it."

**/~/~/~X~\~\~\**

"Higurashi-kun!"

Jerking her head off the desk, the awakened college student turned her wide azure eyes to the woman before her: sleek, gelled, jet-black hair, twirled back into a bun by two decorative chopsticks; dressed in a vibrant, captivating kimono and heels, two inches tall with pointed toes; a sharp, feminine face with piercing, calculating brown eyes, their gaze trained on her austerely. She cursed internally, chastising herself for allowing herself to doze off for another time this month and automatically straightening out her workspace as she began being scolded by her superior.

"Sleeping on the job again, Higurashi-kun?" the woman hissed, lips curling in distaste as the intern began stacking papers and files to make room for the figures she was working on. "Are your precious dreams really any comparison to this business?"

"No, Nakamura-sama," the twenty-one year old responded meekly, not meeting her boss's eyes as she stared at the papers before her, covering up everything she was brainstorming on—but really shouldn't have been at work. As her boss continued to belittle her, going on about how lazy she was being and how she should appreciate the chance she got to intern for a global Japanese fashion designer, her fists clenched and her lips thinned. Shame and remorse flooded her veins along with an all-too-familiar emotion: annoyance. _Please, please be quiet, Nakamura,_ she begged silently, afraid that if the woman didn't stop, her temper would emerge, and she'd either break the woman's fake nose or pride.

After what seemed like an eternity, she finally heard the ending words to her received scorn: "I'm very disappointed in you, Higurashi-kun. I know you have a history of illness, mostly in your teen years, so I understand why you were behind in school. But sleeping on the job? You better improve yourself if you wish to stay with this company—because if I feel you're slacking, I won't hesitate to kick you out of this building myself." The woman once more gave her a stony glare before turning on her heels and sauntering down the hall, workers bowing in respect at her presence before continuing what they were doing before.

Through her raven bangs, she silently glowered at the woman's back with azure eyes, mentally stabbing her in the throat for bringing up the sore spot of her poor attendance. She didn't even remember those times; as far as she knew, she'd always been healthy, and here was her boss, bringing up something that wasn't even close to her business all these years later.

A guilty mutter through glossed lips from the desk nearby drew her attention away from their superior's back. "I'm sorry," her coworker murmured, shame seeping easily into her tone and radiating through chocolate eyes with a magenta undertone. "I tried waking you up, but…you know Nakamura—she has eyes like a hawk, and ears like a bat. She was already glowering at me for not paying any attention to my work."

"You're fine, Sakura-chan," the scorned intern assured the other Tokyo U attendee with a smile—albeit, a tired one, though when this raven-haired beauty grinned, it was genuine. Sakura gave her a dubious look, probably thinking back to her promise on the first day of interning, when she assured the other that she'd protect her against "the evil fashion heads". She managed a wider smile for her sake as she continued, "Really—I shouldn't have fallen asleep in the first place."

"But she should realize your grandpa's been having frequent trips to the hospital," Sakura pointed out, stapling a large stack of papers together before returning to her design. Sakura was better known for her organizational skills than artistic talents, being more interested in law than fashion and being more of a tomboy than feminine girl, but even the sleepy intern could recognize the will to design when she saw it. Upon meeting her current best friend, who went on about how fashion needed to be reintroduced to comfy and casual, she knew the girl had a desire to change something. When the artist decided she had better luck with a fashion agency than a publishing company—she applied to three in the city, all who disproved her claims of talent—her best friend ever since high school automatically jumped the bandwagon with her, needing a few more intern hours to graduate university.

At this point, though, even with Kuwashima Sakura there to keep her company, the girl sincerely wished she kept trying for a manga, magazine, or book publisher.

She shrugged at her friend's comment and sighed, pushing aside her actual work before looking down at the once-hidden paper before her. A schoolgirl in her old uniform stared back at her with similar sapphire eyes, both of which shone on a young face surrounded by completely black, wavy hair reaching down to her chest. Her legs were beyond visible, covering most of the page, and her figure was perfect, everything she pictured—yet what was wrong with the drawing was the counterpart, the girl's love interest. Sketches of him littered the page, little ideas of what he should've looked like, but she couldn't grasp. Sometimes she thought she found small hints of what should've been, of the small details she was looking for, but then the moment they came, they seemed to flood away as easily as melted ice in lukewarm water.

Grabbing a pen, she toyed with him a little more, trying to get his outfit right, just this once. She'd already attempted to draw her high school's old male uniform on him, but the moment she tried that, he felt too formal, too naïve. Deciding to go with a different approach after that first attempt, she'd drawn him in typical gang attire: a bandana, armband, old jeans, stained button-down—the works. And yet, she still found herself crumbling up the paper and filling her trash can within an hour. If his outfit was work itself, his hair, face, eyes, _everything _else was twice as hard. She couldn't even decide on a personality or name for the guy, but she knew his purpose.

He would keep this schoolgirl safe, protect her from everything, even if she didn't want or need it, because he cared for her. He'd love her like he loved no woman before. And whether it be through a manga or novel, she wanted to portray that sort of love to the public.

"Lunch break!" Sakura cheered enthusiastically, snapping her best friend out of her musings and frightening the nearly workers by her sudden exclamation. Her dark ponytail swinging with every movement she made, Sakura casually went to grab her handbag as their colleagues returned to what they were doing, disclaiming her excitement to be nothing in the long run. However, even though it was four o'clock—half an hour before work let out—her companion automatically caught onto her scheme like she always did. They ate lunch at their desks, working and eating at the same time, putting off their half-hour lunch break until it was nearly time to go. That way, they'd sign out, leave early, and not have to come back. Sakura stuffed papers into her bag, presumably to work on at home, and hummed in a suggestive tone, "C'mon, Kagome-chan! Don't want to be late to our _lunch_, now do we?"

Gathering her own things as well, the aspiring storyteller couldn't hold back her grin. "No. No, we don't."

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><p><strong>AN:** Yes, nothing really happened, and it was incredibly short—this was more of a prologue than a first chapter, I suppose, since it's mostly giving their situations and background information. But this fic is also going to be fifty chapters long…so I'm taking it slow. I hope you enjoyed, and don't forget to review! ^.^


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